Balancing Act
by Quibily
Summary: Future married Finchel.  Rachel tries to balance pregnancy and her rise to stardom, and it all comes down to one disastrous night at the Tony Awards.


It was the night of the Tonys—the first Tony Awards ceremony that Rachel has been in a nominated show and been nominated herself.

He should be excited for her, but he was worried. Rachel was eight and a half months pregnant, scheduled to perform onstage, and maybe even accept a few awards. Was she crazy? She should be in relaxing situations doing breathing exercises and stuff. As the father of that child, he should have put his foot down and told her not to go. Too much pressure for such a fragile state. Stress can screw up pregnancies, he knew. You don't have to be a doctor to figure that out. Rachel couldn't ever fully convince him otherwise.

But he didn't want to take away her dreams. Her dreams which, for so long, had pretty much been his own dreams. He sometimes thought he wanted her to make it big as much as she wanted to.

But then, when he turned about 27 or 28, things changed. He wanted a family. Badly. Rachel asked for a little more time to make it big—then she did. Then she got pregnant, and she tried to fit it all in because she's Rachel Berry and she is bound and determined to have everything and for it to be peerless and perfect.

The thing is—Rachel _wasn't_ handling it well. It was just _too much_ for the both of them. The fittings. The strange interviewers coming into their apartment, the designers arriving for special fittings—not to mention the terrible mood Rachel would fall into every time someone remarked on her swollen feet.

Her feet _were_ kinda huge.

He knew the stomach got fat, but he had no idea the feet did. Except her tennis shoes, none of her shoes fit. The strappy shoes she ordered looked terrible on her, no matter the size. And no matter the shoe, her feet _always _hurt.

She got so upset that, two nights before the Tonys, she threw the shoes that didn't fit (translate: all of them) all around the bathroom in her despair. Finn cringed at each _thump_, then a sniffle and whine, another, even louder, _thump, _etc. Finn couldn't stand it and tried to placate her fit, sitting on the floor behind her, reaching out.

He surprised her and one shoe accidentally hit him smack-dab in the forehead after ricocheting off the bathroom wall, causing him to instinctively bend forward to cradle his forehead in his hands—but instead, his nose smashed against the toilet and caused the toilet seat to come plummeting down onto his head.

They noticed together, then, that that obscenely expensive shoe had fallen into the toilet water, and Rachel just lost it and fell into a hysterical fit of laughter with a red-faced Finn.

When they were done, Finn helped her stand up, led her to the bedroom, and lay her down on the bed. He then undressed her and kissed every inch of skin revealed after each article of clothing was off. Her breath quivered at every reveal, nervous of his reaction to her new body even though he'd experienced it many times before. She was so self-conscious. Like she was a teenager again. Jaded, beautiful girl who only saw what she didn't look like instead of the wonderful features she already had.

So he showed her what he saw in her, putting more and more fervor into each kiss, thinking of all the times he neglected to make her feel beautiful the first two years of their high school experience. He was a coward then. Now he's on fire while seducing the most beautiful woman in the world.

Finn decided, then, that he had better stop thinking about sex while driving.

As their car slowed, waiting in line to check into the VIP parking garage, Finn snuck a glance at her heels—the ones they had bought the day after the strappy heels had fallen into the toilet bowl. They were double wide and skin-toned—quite plain and not strappy in the least. He thought they looked great, but he knew they weren't Rachel's dream Tonys shoes in the least. (He wouldn't be surprised if Rachel had a binder dedicated entirely to her Tony outfit for her first time as a nominee.)

Then he practically jumped out of his seat when the car behind him honked to alert that the line to the garage had moved. He was already losing it, and they hadn't even stepped into the building! He was nervous. Last time at the Tonys, Rachel was just another cast member; they both just greeted her castmates as they came into the theatre. He just smiled, shook hands, and said the things his mother raised him to say.

But this time, she'd be interviewed. Pictures would be taken. She was a _Tony-nominated actress, star of a hit musical._ So much could go wrong with all that pressure.

He knew she wouldn't let him out of her sight. For all her show of bravado, Rachel actually was very nervous. She used Finn's hand in hers as her comfort. So he wasn't allowed to leave her side that night (not like he planned on it, in her condition). And all the pictures and footage would come out with Rachel looking amazing—and who the hell is this awkward oaf standing next to her?

He tried not to think about the possibility of Rachel going into labor tonight.

During Rachel's first interview in the VIP section of the theatre's lobby, Finn stood beside Rachel as she held his hand with her right hand and his upper arm with her right. The reporter hadn't acknowledged him yet, and he tried his best to pay attention and smile and nod at the right parts. He tried to smile at her, to soothe her obvious nerves, but she didn't appear to be receptive of his efforts. His ears perked at one point of the interview:

"I'll admit. I did cast myself as a martyr, sometimes, when I was in high school," she joked. She and the reporter laughed at the Joan of Arc joke. "My husband, here—Finn—can attest to that."

"You went to high school together?" the reporter asked, moving his recorder's mic up closer to her mouth.

"Yes, we-we met in Ohio when we were fifteen," Rachel said, looking up to Finn. When she met eyes with him, though, her breathing began to pick up a little.

"High school sweet hearts! That's so romantic! And with a bun in the oven, I see!" the reporter cooed. It was clear this man was more into his next hair-bleaching appointment than in babies.

"Y-yes, now that I've left 'Saint Joan,' I'm going to take a little maternity leave—but I'll be back. There's—there's already talks of a new project that I may star in, but I can't say more than that!"

"And you're still performing tonight?"

"Oh, yes! It might be awkward, but, being seven and a half months pregnant"—Finn blanched. _That lie._—"will not be a hindrance to m-my giving out anything less than a stellar performance. I-"

Rachel's hand flew to her swollen, silk-covered stomach. Her mouth became a tall O.

"Ms. Berry? Are you-"

Finn gasped, his greatest fear being realized. He tugged her away as the reporter merely stared at them as they left.

Finn tried to usher her out of the building, and Rachel smacked at his wrists to try and get him to stop as he walked her from behind.

"Finn! I'm fine!"

"Rachel! You had a contraction!"

"But it's early yet. The contractions are still quite spaced out. _Besides, _it could be that Braxton's thing—false labor! I'm among the first to perform, I—"

"Rachel, _are you insane? _You can't perform the night you're going into labor! You're eight and a half weeks along; lots of babies come at eight and a half weeks. You know this isn't false labor. You can't do everything, Rachel."

"Let me go! I can!" Rachel demanded rather loudly as she stumbled to stand by herself as Finn's grip slackened.

"Rachel, people are starting to stare…" Finn said, forcing his voice to be even.

Her eyes lit up in the realization. She licked her lips nervously, then when the VIP party's eyes left them, Rachel began to speak again, in a low, intense voice:

"Finn, this is my dream."

"No. This is just a formality. You're already the star of every New Yorker's heart."

Her eyes softened.

"Finn, this is …. This is National Tel—" Then her mouth was an O again. Another contraction. Several minutes in between. No more than nine or ten, though, and that meant it was time to G.T.F.O.

Finn expected Rachel to finally agree to take a taxi to the hospital. (Getting the car out of the VIP parking garage would take way too much of a hassle.)

But instead, she turned on her heel and headed to the auditorium. With a groan and a roll of his eyes, he followed behind.

They sat in silence, watching the opening number of the host. He tried to sneak a few worried glances at her, gleaning her outline for signs of the inevitable labor, but it was too dark in the audience. Despite the centerpiece candles, he could hardly see the complimentary glass of wine on the table in front of him—much less, Rachel's face.

He felt a brush on his knuckles, and then Rachel's hand was on his. She gave his hand a little squeeze, and he turned his over so that his palm was in hers.

Suddenly, he was clenching his teeth. She was squeezing his hand so tight that he had to gasp for breath. Just then, a winner of something-or-other was announced.

As the lights went up in their section of the audience, he helped her up and saw her smile uncomfortably as a few of her cast mates jumped on her and hugged her. Her show had won an award, and she was panting, clenching his hand even tighter.

Some of the non-actors (he never met many of the production people) made their way to the aisle, and Rachel's cast mates stopped mobbing her and clapped and whooped for those non-actor guys (and one woman). He tugged at Rachel's hand, and she nodded.

Then, he and Rachel sped-walked to the aisle, sweeping past the group from his table that was accepting the award.

The two men glared at them—at Rachel, that is—and the woman blinked in confusion.

He then realized everyone was staring at them.

_Shit._

Once they got to the aisle, he tried to pull his panting wife up the sloped aisle as fast as possible. This was so embarrassing.

"We gotta go have a baby! Sorry!" Finn projected behind him to anyone who cared to hear. He heard Finn whine and stumble, using his hand to prevent her fall.

Without looking back, they rushed out of the large auditorium and the lobby and made it outside. They then stopped as Finn decided to make their way to the corner of the next busiest street that wasn't congested with Tony-related traffic.

It looked _so far away._

"Tonight was—" she paused to whine a bit at the contraction—"supposed to be perfect," Rachel's voice was teary. "It's not fair. I was—I was _almost _ _there_."

"The night's not over yet," Finn encouraged as he began to lead them to that corner.

Finn felt the loss with her; he knew how badly she wanted it all to work out. She gets so upset when things she does don't work out perfectly, even if she works the hardest she can. He wanted this plan—this crazy pregnancy/Broadway balancing act—to work out—though it stressed him out to no end.

That white lie she told didn't help, either.

He thought back on the early days of her pregnancy, when the trouble started brewing.

One night, when Rachel was six weeks into the pregnancy, she came home from a performance of "Saint Joan," and announced that she had told them. He remembered that she was so distracted by her announcement, she didn't notice or bother to scold Finn for rushing to finish the dishes when she came home. (His pasta had stuck to the bottom of the pan, and it was a bitch to clean out, so he had just abandoned it to soak, planning on getting back to it before his wife got home.)

"Told them what?" Finn asked as he put his pan away.

"That I'm pregnant, silly!"

"But, babe, you've _been_ pregnant."

"_Yes, I know. _But I had to time it just right, you know. So I told them a little white lie that I was two weeks along so that I can continue in the show during Tony nomination season!" She grinned at him. Proud of herself, she continued, "And during the Tonys, I can do my big solo, which is in armor, so it won't look like Joan of Arc was pregnant—which, of course she wasn't. Can't lead warfare with a baby!" she giggled nervously at her own joke.

"It's perfect, okay, sweetie … I mean, don't you think?"

Finn could tell she was really pleased with herself, but he couldn't reciprocate.

"I don't know if that's a good idea."

"Oh, come on! It's brilliant! I'll bow out of the show in March, when I'm five months along. With the high waist period costuming, the big armor, and the raggety thing I wear in prison, and my naturally petite frame—and with a little help from optical illusions—I could still pull it off as I get big. Plus, I can let out all that emotional energy onstage, instead of at you! Won't that be great? Can't say I don't think of you, even when I'm busy with my job." This time, her giggle wasn't nervous. She saw him crumbling because he couldn't help but smile.

"You know I wouldn't mind taking care of you the whole nine months."

"I know, baby, but—it's perfect! I've already talked the director—you know, Eddie—into letting me perform at the Tonys! The Tonys, Finn! I'll finally get the media attention I deserve—and perhaps garner new, adoring fans across the nation! _Across the world!_"

"What if the stress … what if it hurts the baby?"

Rachel closed the gap between them, taking his one large hand into her two clammy ones. She put it up to her mouth and kissed it.

"It won't. Our baby is safe." She began to nuzzle into his hand, murmuring, "My sweet, sweet husband. Trust me."

Then she looked up, her eyes bright, excited.

It was actually happening. She was making it big, and they were going to have a baby! He was in awe at the thought. All their dreams coming true, all at once. She brought their heads together as he tried to process the thought.

Then, staring at her lips, he murmured assent, and then his lips were on hers.

When they reached the corner, Finn heard a shout:

"Oh, my god! Rachel Berry!"

A female fan who looked about college-aged approached them, holding out a book they sell to tourists to collect signatures in.

"Can I have your autograph? Oh, my God, you look gorgeous! I hope _I _look that good pregnant!"

Rachel blushed, and Finn sucked in a deep breath, bouncing slightly on his heels, looking for an available tax. He couldn't help but glare when a taxi driver approached and flicked his light off, to indicate he was off-duty once Finn raised his hand. _ Who the hell cares about your sandwich break-my wife's having a baby!_

"Of course!" Rachel exclaimed to the fan. "What's your name?"

"Terry Nodine. I hope you win that Tony tonight! When I saw you in Saint Joan at Eugene O'Neil, I got chills! _Chills!"_

"Thank you so much! There you are!" Rachel handed the little book back over to the fan, who immediately had to read it herself.

"Thanks! Wait … Why does it say 'Rachel Hudson?'"

"Oh! Sorry! It's just … ooh! … I'm kinda in Rachel Hudson … oh! … Hudson mode right now!"

The fan looked confused, and Finn couldn't fight the smug smile that bloomed on his lips as he extended a hand to the fan.

"_Finn_ Hudson. Her husband."

The fan took his hand, shook it, then appeared to understand. He continued to wave his hand for a taxi, and finally—_finally—_saw one pulling up to their curb.

"So nice to meet you," Finn said for his panting wife.

"Yes! Thank you s-… so much for your support … "

Finn whispered into Rachel's ear as he opened the taxi door, "_Terry."_

"Terry!" Rachel finished her sentence. The fan's eyes were huge and wet.

Rachel's panting got worse and worse as the taxi drive progressed. Part of it was the less spaced-out contractions, but she was also stressed out by the taxi driver's crazy driving.

At one point, she screamed at the driver:

"CAN'T YOU SEE THAT I'M WITH CHILD?"

"Baby, I think that's _why_ he's driving like that," Finn side, hiding his smile as he buried his face into her hair.

He peered through the front window of the taxi to see that they were still quite a way from the hospital.

"Breathe, sweetheart, the way they taught you, and don't worry about anything else. I'll take care of you," Finn finally told Rachel softly into her hair.

"I know you will," was her breathy reply.

The labor was long. Over the course of a several hours, Finn had sweated through his new tux twice over.

He took comfort in the fact that he had managed to talk Rachel out of having a natural birth without medicine to aid the pain. Her cries of agony were already hard enough as it was.

But, God, the baby was beautiful. Of course, he came out wrinkly and with a weird, ornery expression.

But such soft skin and beautiful dark eyes! A healthy boy. Perfect, like his mom. And with one helluva head of hair.

The ornery expression went away once his mom held him. And the wrinkles went away eventually.

He was theirs. All theirs. _Their son. _Finn couldn't believe it.

"Should we name him Tony, in honor of his birthday?" Finn asked.

Rachel chuckled rather heartily, despite her exhaustion.

"No, I like Christopher. After your dad. Like we talked about."

"But things have changed since we agreed on Christopher when we were first married,"

"_Things_ may have, but at the heart of everything, we're still you and me. That's how we get through this madness—the blind ambition, the fame, the lying. I loved performing before, but I love most when I have you to share it with. I mean, maybe this is crazy, but, I always thought we were a kind of family even when we were teenagers—a center to the chaos, you know?"

Finn's eyes watered. He answered with a barely audible, "Yeah."

After a little more cooing at the newborn, the nurse took Christopher away, encouraging Rachel to rest.

Finn sat closer to her bedside, putting his hand over hers, stroking her sweaty knuckles with his thumb.

"I'm sorry you missed your big performance," Finn said after a long, comfortable silence. He really was.

"It's all right. More than all right, in fact. _Amazing," _Rachel mused sleepily.

"Really?"

"Yeah. I mean, there'll be other Tonys I can perform at. More Tonys than times giving birth, definitely. I'm not doing this more than three times—tops. That understood, Mr. Hudson?"

Finn grinned. "Yes, Mrs. Hudson."

"I love that I get to be both Miss Berry and Mrs. Hudson," she said, smiling wistfully.

"And that I'm Mr. Berry and Mr. Hudson. That's totally cool, too."

Rachel snorted.

"It's true! They call me Mr. Berry, sometimes. And I don't correct them. I'm proud."

"How are you so wonderful?"

He answered with a kiss.

A little later, her eyes grew red and glazed as she began to tear up.

"I know I can be a little … exhausting, and I love you so much for putting up with it and letting me be my selfish self—but Finn. I never fell _so_ hard as when I held Christopher in my arms just now. We're his parents. Our job is to _give ourselves _to him. We're not as important as he is. We can't be selfish anymore—_I _can't be selfish anymore. God, Finn, I love him so much. And you. Both of you," she said, her voice choking up. "_My boys_. I'll try to be better for my boys, okay?"

Finn swallowed deeply and nodded, his forehead slightly grazing hers.

She weakly stroked her husband's face, and then she closed her eyes and settled into the hospital bed to rest.

Finn watched her, in awe at how valiant and strong she had been that night. How beautiful with her eyeliner running down her face and her nose pink. If he ever doubted her commitment to family, it was all washed away with the tidal wave of love he felt overtake him. She was just as committed to this as to her job.

"Oh," Rachel said, stirring in bed, her eyes still closed. "Could you call our parents for me? And Kurt. Kurt would _kill_ us if he weren't one of the first to know."

She yawned, "You can use my phone in my purse …"

When Finn took up the phone and turned it on, he gasped as he saw a text message from

Eddie, "Saint Joan's" director:

"YOU WON! BEST ACTRESS!"

His eyes welled up in proud tears. His wife was amazing.


End file.
